


Harry's Shoes: These Shoes Are Made For...

by zephyrus_prolixity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 00:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyrus_prolixity/pseuds/zephyrus_prolixity
Summary: People, who cross Harry or Hermione? Nobody wants to be in those shoes.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	Harry's Shoes: These Shoes Are Made For...

**Harry's Shoes: These Shoes Are Made For...**

* * *

* * *

"Potter, the wizard you're holding is to be released to our custody 𝒊𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚… He’s a highly valued asset in ongoing investigations of Dark Arts groups." The senior Hit-wizard for the International Council of Magic spoke conversationally but firmly; his demeanor left no doubt he wouldn’t accept any resistance.

Unphased, Harry replied, “𝑨𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏 𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒉𝒐𝒗 is a 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝑬𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓; one of the last remaining members of Voldemort's inner-circle and responsible for close to one-hundred deaths--several of them personal friends of mine. Since when does the ICM protect such filth?”

Steepling his fingers in front of his chin, Harry continued, “Additionally, he is the top suspect in the kidnapping of British Ministry Vice-Minister Hermione Granger.

“Look, Harry, no one is suggesting Dolohov isn’t a complete shite… but the fact remains in-spite of how despicable he is; he’s the only access we have to the growing threats being presented by groups looking to become the new Death Eaters. So--we have to have him. As flawed, and corrupted, and _evil_ as he is, he is our _only_ option. Sometimes you make do with whatever weapon you can lay hands on… Surely you can accept this?” Britain’s ICM Councilor pleaded.

Harry’s cold growl actually lowered the temperature of the room, “I'll be eternally cursed before that piece of shite takes one step. There’s nothing to discuss until Hermione is back safe. Then I will be _personally_ removing Dolohov's head from his shoulders and tossing his parts through the veil.”

The most junior of the bureaucrats before Harry’s desk leaned his fists on the desktop and glared down, “Listen, you over-hyped Aars, we are the Fokken I—C—M! No jumped-up British Slet is worth giving up the Galleon-solid information Dolohov gives us access to. No one--not you nor your kut are going to stand in our way. Try it, and we’ll crush you.”

Smirking at his companions like he’d accomplished a task they’d failed; he continued in his rough Dutch accent... “So here’s how this works... you’ll get Granger returned to you as soon as we get Dolohov in our hands.”

Harry folded his hands on the blotter and cocked an eyebrow at the Dutch Hit-wizard, “Hermione Granger is safe? You know her whereabouts and condition?”

The completely neutral voice in which these questions were posed would have seen practically anyone in the British ministry throwing up shields and taking shelter if not outright running in fear.

The British ICM representative started warningly... “Hans—we need to talk abou—”

His admonition was cut short when Harry snapped his fingers and a House Elf popped into view next to his desk.

“Rix, would you please bring the Death Eater to me.”

“Sure, Boss. Right away.” Rix replied and popped away.

“Well, I believe my presence is no longer required. I’ll just bid you all a pleasant night and take my leave...” the British liaison to the ICM hastily left before the exchange of a confirmed Death Eater for a high-ranking Ministry official could be conducted.

Once Rix returned with Antonin Dolohov in tow, Harry wandlessly and silently stuck the Death Eater to the wall of his office and threw up a ward preventing anyone other than Harry himself from removing the evil bastard. Harry completely ignored the hostile frowns of the two remaining foreign wizards and demanded... “There’s your—**_Asset_**. Produce Deputy Minister Granger immediately!”

As soon as Hermione was brought into the office Harry wasted no time.... he magically transported her behind himself and the protection wards in constant readiness anchored to his desk. He next produced the Sword of Gryffindor from the dimensional store he wore on his left wrist as a bracelet. Then magically cast the gleaming Goblin blade in a spinning blur to sever Dolohov’s head from his shoulders... His aim was true resulting in a precise bloodless stroke as accurate and clean as the strike of a guillotine.

“Potter, you asshole! You’ll pay for that! The ICM will have you sacked and in prison before the night’s over.” The senior ICM agent ranted until his mouth vanished due to a silent hex from Hermione whose magical suppression bindings had fallen away once she was behind Harry’s wards.

Seeing his boss and partner fall victim to a magical assault; the Dutch agent went to raise his wand and found himself petrified on the floor looking into the burning emerald gaze of Harry James Potter. Potter who until that exact second, had completely failed to manifest the awe-inspiring magical force Hans Elbert van Pelt had expected to encounter the moment they entered the office—it was like picking up a kitten only to discover it was a Nundu.

Harry spoke conversationally, “Hermione love, do you care for Tulips at all?”

Hermione paused to consider the question even though she was a bit stymied by the seeming non-sequitur... “I don’t hate them--even if they wouldn’t be the first flower to come to mind if I was asked for my preference.... May I ask why you’re asking?”

“Simple, Love... watch this.” Harry wore his ‘I’m about to pull a Marauder level shenanigan’ demeanor fully displayed. “Rix!”

The faithful elf faded into view, “Go to Neville Longbottom; and tell him I’d like to purchase a single Tulip bulb--Yellow if possible. Tell him also: I need the best Dragon-dung fortified potting soil he has... to plant the bulb in.”

“Rix will be right back, Boss!”

“Harry James, what are you up to?” Hermione frowned.

“All in good time sweetheart, all in good time.” Harry offered a small grin far more reminiscent of a dragon showing it’s teeth, than a wizard enjoying something humorous.

Rix popped back into the office holding a small cloth sack as well as a slight odor evocative of a greenhouse full of lush plants and rich fertile soil.

Taking the bag, Harry drew his wand, silently transfigured the Dutch wizard on the floor into a large wooden shoe and levitated it to the desktop... Pouring the dragon dung and potting soil mixture into the shoe; Harry buried the tulip bulb in the soil and used his wand to water down the new planting. He then floated the ‘shoe’ to his windowsill where it would receive sunlight for several hours a day. “There now... that ought to brighten things up once it blooms.”

“How long do you plan on keeping him like that, Harry? You realize someone from Rome will come looking for him; I’m sure. Not to mention his partner we have silenced and petrified in the corner...” Hermione queried.

Harry shrugged. They raised their wands against you. Moreover, they had the utter idiotic gall to do it attempting to leverage me into letting Antonin Bloody Dolohov walk free--that scum-stain’s been a walking corpse since he nearly killed you at sixteen... I’ll frigging-well do as a I please with any magical person who lifts a finger toward you. Even the Merlin-be-buggered International Council of Magic.”

Hermione looked pointedly at the windowsill and mused, “A Shoe, huh? Definitely not an obvious choice for hiding a captive.... Maybe we can start a bit of a theme though....”

The spell when it happened was barely a twitch of her wand, but the result was impressive as the remaining ICM Agent was transformed into a tatty, worn-out Muggle hiking boot. With a small flick from her wand, Hermione levitated the boot to the mantle over the office floo connection. Once the boot was set just so, she emptied the normal ceramic pot of its floo powder filling the boot. A shoe or boot usually represents travel--so we’ll use the boot to contain the Floo-powder....”

Harry chimed-in, “Besides, I like the thought of knowing boots and shoes also hold the idea of our kicking the arses of people who piss us off.”

"We can definitely make use of this quirky decorating trend in the new flat after we return from the honeymoon. I’ll start a list...” Hermione gave a small laugh.

* * *

Eighteen Months later...

* * *

“Hermione honey, can tell me about the theme you and Harry are using in your décor? What's the idea behind the shoes?” Dr. Martha Jean Granger asked as she accepted the teacup her daughter Hermione handed her.

The newly minted Mrs. Harry Potter blushed slightly and snickered, “It’s something rather naughty actually... growing up Harry was always forced to wear whatever worn-out manky old trainers his whale of a cousin cast off. So he has a bit of over-sensitivity to shoes of all kinds; which is sort of horrible I know. Anyway, we were taught a spell in Transfiguration to create shoes from other things... Harry tweaked the spell to use on people who present themselves as our enemies. Like the wooden shoe we’re using for a flowerpot on the windowsill--some Dutch git tried steamrolling Harry into letting a proven Killer--who had attacked me once--walk free..."

“...And over there--that frumpy old slipper? That was this over-bearing meddling witch we used to know... She thought she could control us through potions and manipulation to marry her youngest two spawn... we're going to see the slipper gets put into a muggle thrift store once we find something suitable to pair it with; maybe some unfortunate vagrant could use them. The knee-high leather boot with the twisted stiletto heel Crookshanks is using to sharpen his claws--That’s the youngest child and only daughter of the witch and the welly full of catnip over in that corner is the youngest son.”

Dr. Granger gave her daughter a pointed look, "Oh... Well, why not just kill them? 'Cause they all brought that shite on themselves..."

Hermione laughed, "They really did. But if we just killed them, they'd never learn."

"Learn what, dear?" Martha asked.

"Learn to put themselves in someone else's shoes." Harry deadpanned from the doorway to the kitchen.


End file.
